


Skin on skin on flesh

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Other, Size Difference, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vaginal Sex, Xeno, by the grace of God do not archive, consensual vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There’s something Jon has been wondering for weeks now, ever since he read the statement of Dr Fanshawe regarding the corpse and the innards of Albrecht von Closen.In an attempt to clear the mystery up for himself, he seeks out the help of an agent of the Flesh.
Relationships: Jared Hopworth/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 59





	Skin on skin on flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for descriptions of gore and organs, nothing in my opinion heavier than is present in the actual show. Words used for Jon's equipment are all of them, indiscriminately. 
> 
> I wrote more than half of this in the span of less than a day. It is pure rotten filthy porn with minimal plot. I'm ashamed to be in the same room as it. Take it and have mercy.

When Jared Hopworth pulls his ribs out, it’s the worst pain Jon has ever felt. His entire body screams in protest as it is pulled at in ways it’s never supposed to experience, tendons and nerves being torn off as two bloodied curved bones are pulled out of him.

One is placed in his hand with a meaty smack, and Jon stares at it with a previously unexperienced emotion of seeing a part of himself now separate.

“There’s another f-favor I need to ask,” Jon says, still catching his breath.

Jared’s eyes narrow. There’s only two of them, but they’re oblong and stretched, like multiple eyes that have been melted together. His entire face is ever-changing in small subtle ways, sinews reattaching themselves as he speaks or clenches his jaw, reshaping itself under his will.

“No,” he grunts out. Jon wavers in surprise.

“Wh- no?”

“Not now. I got business.”

Jon wants to protest, but Hopworth swells like a wild animal trying to appear bigger (as if there’s any need for that already). Jon trusts that if he tried to attack Helen would somehow try to protect him, but he doesn’t know if he trusts the Flesh or the Spiral to be faster.

“Right. Right, then,” he mumbles in defeat.

Jared watches him intently as Jon leaves through the door he came, rib in hand and the coffin in mind.

* * *

Weeks pass before Jon sees the door again.

It’s not in the Institute this time. It is in the evening, as he’s headed home and he happens to look down a hallway and notices that something is different in it. He squints, and then he sees it — the garish yellow Door.

He sighs aloud when he sees it, thinks, _might as well get this over with_ , because whatever it is that Helen wants she is persistent and it’s better to deal with it now than at home in his flat.

The moment he steps in he’s met with that dry unnatural atmosphere which he’s grown accustomed to by now. Helen is nowhere to be seen, and he moves in deeper down the hall without letting his guard down.

He still freezes with fear and surprise as he rounds a corner, and looking down the corridor is met with the massive shape of the Boneturner.

All of Jared crackles and pulsates as he turns around, fixates Jon with one oblong red eye and grumbles at a resonance that seems to make the entire corridor tremble.

“You again,” he growls, takes one lumbering step that causes Jon to reflexively back away. “What the hell do you want?”

“What?” Jon says weakly, but it only serves to irritate Jared further.

“Your bloody doors keep chasing me,” he rumbles out, still moving forwards. “Feel your rib, yelling at me, snapping at me, greedy, impatient, like the damn taxman - what do you _want_?”

Jon remembers all of a sudden. He had almost forgotten it, but only almost – the autopsy of Albrecht von Closen never truly leaves his mind anymore.

“It’s nothing,” Jon begins, suddenly realizing what a bad idea this was, to seek out the help of Jared _again_ when he now has even less to give him in return.

Jared moves closer and his entire body seems to hiss with a seething irritation. He’s almost eight feet tall, perpetually hunched over and with a seemingly endless supply of limbs that all ripple with muscle.

Jon sighs and clenches his fists. “I need you to check inside me,” he says in a hurry. “Like, inside my body.”

“What for.”

“F-for eyes,” Jon spits out. “I need you to check inside me for eyes.”

He read Jonathan Fanshawe’s statement over a month ago and it’s stayed with him since. He imagines the insides of his body as corrupted with eyes as Albrecht von Closen’s were, thousands of eyes all over the membranes of his organs staring at each other and the inside of his skin, silently pleading to look out into the world.

It catches Jared off-guard. He reels back slightly in surprise, muscles twitching and pulsating as if his entire body is thinking. Jon thinks terrified that maybe Jared will think he’s trying to have a laugh, maybe he’ll think Jon is messing with him and decide just to rip him apart on the spot. It wouldn’t be difficult – he could crush Jon in just one hand.

Right as Jon thinks that his fate might be sealed, Jared says;

“And what would I get in return for that?”

Oh. Jon hadn’t quite thought that far.

“What do you want? More ribs?” he offers as a placating half-joke, and then immediately regrets it.

Jared tilts his large head side to side, the veins on his neck pulsating. He looks Jon’s small frame up and down, scanning him for some unknown goal.

“I’ll figure that out after,” he says and steps into Jon’s space so that he can feel the heat radiating off of his body. “Go on. Lie down.”

Jon flounders for a moment. Jared glares at him unwavering, and Jon awkwardly sits down on the floor of the distorted hallways, considers for a moment, and then lies down flat.

The floor quakes and squeaks as Jared goes down on one massive knee, steadying himself on two of his arms so that he is leaned above Jon, caging him in with his limbs.

“Well?” Jared says. “Strip.”

Jon unzips his jacket with nervous shaking hands. He hesitates when he comes to his shirt, at once terrified of the banal threat of being hate-crimed when he’s in front of a lethal agent of flesh, able to mold living beings like clay.

Jon is quite satisfied in how he is able to pass even shirtless – his breasts are small and several years of hormones has made them more like pecs, covered in thin chest hair. He _should_ be able to pass even with his chest exposed to Jared, but he’s still on his guard.

Jared inspects his naked torso without comment, and Jon feels incredibly vulnerable beneath the man’s gaze but forces himself to stay calm.

Two large hot hands land on the sides of Jon’s torso, and he startles at the feeling of skin to skin. Each hand is large enough that if Jared tried, they could probably enclose the entirety of Jon’s waist.

“Don’t move,” Jared mutters, and Jon barely bites back a comment about doing his best. 

Another large hand lands on the middle of his chest, just above his sternum. It extends two fingers, and begins to move down. And his skin is cut open along with it.

It _stings_ when Jared opens his chest, a sort of burning sensation along the center of his torso. He can’t stop the gasp of sheer shock escaping him, briefly peering down to see the skin of his chest be pulled to the side like curtains. He wonders if Helen’s hallways are sterile, if there’s any kind of particles drifting around and he’s going to survive all of this only to die from an infection.

Two smaller hands grab the flaps of skin, keeping him open. Jon feels himself grow dizzy. He isn’t queasy or easily moved by the sight of blood, but he sees his own rib cage, the inside of his skin and the dermis-

“Relax,” Jared snaps. “Or don’t. Your choice if you want me to do a good job or not.”

Jon’s head falls back on the floor and he focuses on the ceiling. Below him he sees Jared’s large head lean in, his eyes squinting at the flaps of skin and his remaining ribs.

“No eyes here,” Jared says after a pause. “Is that all?”

“Deeper,” Jon sputters out, staring at the ceiling. “On- on- on my organs.”

Jared’s only response is a grunt, and then Jon watches another hand appear and land on his rib cage, sees it flex slightly and then he hears his sternum crack right down the middle. He can’t stifle a sob then, both of fear and pain as his body is opened up and beheld.

Something brushes against the flesh of his lungs, and Jon reflexively reaches out to grab onto something to steady himself. His hand lands on one of Jared’s wrists, and Jared doesn’t shake it off.

“You’re doing well,” Jared says almost impressed, and Jon wonders if it is meant to soothe him before the man adds, “most people would be screaming now.”

Jon doesn’t really feel as his organs are touched, but he sure hears it. The squelch of wet meat and drip of blood, the occasional ache deep inside his body. It hurts, but not terribly — nowhere near as badly as his rib did.

“You a smoker?” Jared asks. The question catches him off guard in how simple it is.

“Sometimes,” Jon replies meekly. He never smoked as intensely as some people, and he’s basically stopped –he’s surprised that Jared can tell.

“Less scared now,” Jared says. “Your heart’s not racing anymore.”

Jon flushes, uncomfortable at how extremely exposed he is beneath Jared’s hands. His chest is bare in the most literal sense of the word, his ribs open and his lungs and heart on display, free to be perceived as Jared Hopworth wishes.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Jon asks loudly. Jared grunts and twists something, but Jon has no idea what.

“All you think I do is destroy, innit? Can’t even see me as a person,” he mutters, and Jon opens his mouth to protest but finds that suddenly he can’t get any air into his throat.

“I _build_ , Archivist. I make art and I take it apart. And I help. People come to me needin’ more muscles or less fat, and I help them with that. Get people like you, too,” something is moved and Jon can finally gasp for air, “wanting their tits removed or made bigger, wombs and bollocks and what not that needs changes. Yeah, I think I know what I’m doing.”

Jon mouths _sorry_ , but it goes unheard beneath the sound of Jared putting his lungs back and reaching further down.

“All good so far, by the way,” Jared adds sourly. “No eyes anywhere. Your liver looks good.”

“…thank you,” Jon says, softly but with genuine gratitude. The autopsy of Albrecht von Closen starts feeling less like a possible future and more like another horror story from the past.

A half minute passes where there’s no sounds but the rummaging of flesh. Jon almost feels calm now and realizes that his hand is still on Jared’s wrist. He doesn’t move it, afraid to rouse the man’s irritation.

Jon finds it difficult to not squirm, squeezing his legs together to stop them from kicking in pure reflex.

There’s far less nerve-endings beneath his skin, but he still is able to feel it. It is like a bizarre stomach ache or cramp, except it doesn’t hurt. He’s grateful for that – he imagines that Jared could make it hurt unimaginably if he wanted to do so. So he’s just left with the completely foreign feeling of something moving inside his chest cavity.

He distractedly catalogues the feeling of Jared’s skin. All of him is warm, and his skin is thin as if it’s stretched as far as it can go. It is smooth and decidedly human.

“Done now,” Jared says and snaps Jon out of his thoughts. His hands are still inside Jon’s open chest, but no longer moving. “Unless you want me to check inside your bones or skull.”

“N-no, thank you,” Jon replies. Jared looks at him intently, scouring his face for something besides maybe a numb relief and dormant fear. His face is still very human, even if some parts lack skin and other parts seem to have way too much of it. Jon wonders if Jared sculpted himself like this, monstrous and frightening but to his own content.

There’s a total of seven hands touching him: two large ones on his waist (one of which Jon has grabbed), two almost normal sized ones holding his skin open, and three elongated ones that must have two dozen fingers combined.

As Jared begins to put him back together, Jon starts breathing faster and faster. He’s startled to find he’s not worried that Jared has intentionally done something wrong, startled to find that he trusts in the Boneturner’s process. The hands are warm on him, heavy – Jared pushes his ribs back together with a pop, and rubs the sternum in a small circle to will the bone into growing back together.

He lets out an appraising _‘hm,’_ unfolding the flaps of skin and putting them back where they belong. His hands aren’t at all bloody when they touch Jon’s bare skin, running down the cut slowly so that it stitches itself back together.

And then they stay there. Two massive hands cupping Jon’s waist, and one on the middle of his chest where he mere minutes ago could see his own ribs. There is only a faint ache and bruising left as proof of the vivisection.

“You don’t get touched often, do you,” Jared mumbles darkly. It’s not a question.

Jon musters a glare. “What makes you say _that_?”

“‘Cause you’re turned on,” he says, and Jon turns his head to look anywhere else - the hallway, the ceiling, the furniture and mirrors that flick in and out of existence.

He is. He very much is.

He’s been squeezing his thighs together for the past few minutes, battling the urge to grind into bare air. It’s not his fault, God help him, it’s just the combination of not feeling completely unsafe and the large warm hands on his body. The adrenaline probably doesn’t help either.

“Can help you with that, if you want,” Jared says softly, leaning in closer and dropping his voice. “Show you what a bit of flesh can do. I’d make it real good for you, too.”

One of his hands presses down slightly, and Jon’s jaw clenches.

Jon looks at him. Jared has him almost trapped between his many limbs, crowding in from every direction. The hallways aren’t particularly temperate, but Jared exudes heat from every inch of his massive body.

“S-show me what?”

Jared takes it as a cue to squeeze him, rubbing his fingers into the skin of Jon’s waist with the hands there and squeezing his left breast with the other. Jon’s mouth falls open in a little gasp, and all of Jared seems to squirm and pulse with anticipation.

It goes quickly after that. A swarm of arms descend on him, grabbing Jon’s tits and his waist to drag him further out of his jacket. Two massive hands grab onto his trousers and pants and pull them down as if they were dolls clothes, leaving Jon naked save for his socks and shirt. His crotch is exposed to the air for barely a second before a large hand clasps down there.

“You’re good and wet already,” Jared says, and two massive fingers move in a circle around Jon’s hole. He opens his mouth to say that it’s too early for him to take two fingers, especially ones of such _size_ , but there’s half a dozen hands on his body stealing away his attention.

Almost all his skin is covered by heavy palms of varying texture, hands kneading and squeezing him firmly like a full-bodied massage.

It’s _far_ from the worst foreplay Jon’s ever had. Jared doesn’t finger him either, just kind of plays with the front of his cunt and absentmindedly rubs his clit. Every hand is moving in a slightly different rhythm in a truly remarkable display of cognition — like some sort of macabre symphony of limbs and flesh.

It only takes a minute or so before he’s biting back moans, squirming in Jared’s encompassing grip and grinding against his hand. Jared grunts in approval and offers more of his hand, and it’s so large that Jon can wrap his legs around it and hump it.

Jon peers down and sees the lower half of Jared’s massive body rearrange itself as he kneels. He doesn’t appear to be wearing clothes, but from the mass of his groin he’s stroking something, coaxing it out and unsheathing it.

There’s not a lot of options for what it could be, but Jon’s jaw still drops at the sight.

“Oh Jesus _Christ_ ,” Jon cries. “That’s not going to fit at all—!”

“Yes it will,” Jared insists. He strokes his cock in tandem with how he squeezes Jon, slowly and building anticipation.

It’s _big_ , inhumanly so — Jon’s certain that there’s esoterically shaped dildos on certain websites that are of similar sizes, but that doesn’t make it any less daunting. It’s the length of his arm but far thicker, definitely the biggest dick he’s ever seen.

_Could he fit it?_ Probably, with practice and a lot of prep. He’s seen videos of what only could be considered marvels of nature – he remembers once in uni how Georgie had been given a large and frankly _fascinating_ toy as a joking gift, and they had spent a few nights trying to amuse themselves with it.

“Don’t chicken out on me now, Archivist,” Jared grunts with an edge of amusement. “Not before I get anything inside you. Look at this, now.”

Jon lifts his head to look. The hand that’s been occupied between his legs moves up and is placed on his pubis. Then, making sure Jon is watching, his hand slips _into_ the skin. It makes Jon queasy to look at, Jared’s hand disappearing into his flesh and–

Jon’s entire body jolts as if electrocuted, and Jared laughs darkly.

“What are you d–,” he tries to say, but Jared keeps moving and it sends the most intense surges of pleasure he thinks he’s ever felt, and his question ends in a shriek. He can’t even try to keep quiet, Jared keeps going and bolts of heat shoot through his entire body, so hard it verges on painful.

“Told you I’d make it good,” Jared chuckles. “That’s your g-spot, Archivist. Trick I picked up a while back — easier to reach it like this.”

Jon’s legs try to snap shut, but Jared keeps them spread, keeps squeezing the inside of his pussy until Jon can’t hold back sobs and shouts and is trying to babble out God knows what. It might be the most agonizing pleasure he’s ever experienced.

He thinks he’s close to coming but it’s impossible to tell. The sensation is searing and he is covered in sweat, able to feel how hot and _sopping_ wet he is as he grinds into the air. He sees Jared’s hand working him, _squeezing_ his erogenous zone from the inside out.

Jared stops and it’s both a terrible relief and disappointment.

“Think you’re ready now,” he says, pulling Jon in front of him so he’s lined up with the man’s cock.

Jon wants to comment that no matter how wet he is, he’s barely been stretched and it’s a respectful girth that Jared is asking him to take. Instead Jon just grasps at whatever limb he can and whispers, “Please.”

Jared enters him painfully slowly. Jon tries not to thrash as his flesh is willed by external forces into opening, his cunt giving way and greedily taking in every inch that Jared levers in. It burns slightly, shockingly painless all in all but still such a strain as Jon is opened up.

Jared bottoms out with a low groan, firmly planted against Jon’s cervix. It aches, but not as much as it should – more than anything it feels so _good_ to finally be filled, skin to skin inside and out and so very complete.

When Jared starts moving in and out and fuck him properly, Jon completely gives up on complex thought. Jared’s hands envelop his waist and lever him back and forth like he’s just a fleshlight, in and out at a pace that is brutally pleasurable. Jon moans freely then, unable to stop the sounds that are punched out of him.

It feels _obscenely_ good. Jon’s had a fair share of sex before, he’s been penetrated before – Jared must be doing something to his very nerves, because every thrust sets him alight and shakes cries from his chest.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Jared chuckles. “I do my fair share of philanthropy. ‘Specially for a poor thing like you, begging to be touched or fucked. Go on then, come.”

As if on command, Jon does. His entire body shudders as he goes taut and clenches down on Jared’s cock, his entire mind whiting out into nothing but sheer _bliss_. He screams as he does, and Jared just chuckles and keeps going, drawing his climax out as Jon kicks and trembles.

“See?” Jared says as if he’s just proved a point. “Told you.”

He pulls out almost the entire way and then buries himself again, and Jon lets the pleasure carry him into incoherency. It doesn’t matter what he thinks or does, all that matters is the feeling of skin against skin and wanton flesh begging for more as Jared keeps fucking him.

Jared is satisfied to have his merry way with him. At one point he turns Jon over so that all Jon can see is the floor as he’s hammered into from behind, leaning in and rumbling into his ear, “You got a good pussy, Archivist, bit tight but just the right fit. Doesn’t get fucked a lot, does it?”

“N-no, I don’t–,” Jon responds in a noble attempt of explaining that he’s not really the sex type and that he’s been really focused on his career. He reaches out a hand in some sort of desperation, and Jared grabs it with one of his many and holds it.

“Shame. Could get a couple of mates together, let them pass you around,” Jared suggests and his hips stutter with arousal. “Fill you up proper, the way your body wants. Make good use of every hole you got, bet you got a good arse. Make you come until you can’t think for an hour – seems like a good way to shut you up.”

Jon whines in the back of his throat in response, no idea if it’s a positive or negative but just enrapt by his entire body begging. He thinks vaguely that Jared’s stamina is ridiculous, but he also thinks he might not have the most accurate idea of time currently.

It passes by in fragments, the many ways Jared was happy to use him as a toy;

Jared with four hands on him – two on his tits, one fondling his clit, and one that absentmindedly plays with his arse. Jon comes again then, completely overwrought with overstimulation.

He thinks Jared kisses him, just once, and Jon felt rows of teeth and a long tongue dive into his mouth to lick the back of his palate before it is pulled out.

Jared holding him so that Jon’s back is pressed against his massive chest, making him watch as he fucks him and how his stomach gently bulges with it.

Jared pinning him with his back on the floor and spreading Jon’s legs (maybe a little further than Jon knows himself to be able to stretch) so that he can bury himself as deep as he wants. Jon tries and fails to wrap his legs around the wide meaty waist, instead throwing his arms around Jared’s neck to desperately steady himself.

All of Jared shivers as he finally comes with a rumbling shout, pulling Jon in so that he’s fit as deep as possible in his cunt and coming inside him.

Jon’s eyes go wide as he does; there’s so _much_ of it, spilling into his fucking cervix and _past_ it with nowhere else to go. Jared’s bulk is pressed right up to his own dick, and when the man gives two shuddering thrusts that’s all it takes – Jon comes a third time with a sob, and Jared sighs as he relishes the sensation of Jon convulsing around him.

The Boneturner stays buried inside him for a few seconds. His breaths are heavy and drawn out while Jon’s come in short gasps and bursts, the aftershocks still rolling through him as exhaustion finally sets in.

He whimpers when Jared pulls out of his overstimulated flesh, removes himself from Jon’s grasp and Jon’s arms fall limp to the floor.

Jared holds him by the thighs and looks at his cunt, and Jon doesn’t need to see to know that he must be salaciously spread, with Jared’s seed pouring out of him.

A hand is placed right over his vulva, and Jon twitches in protest.

“God, don’t–,” he says, past the point of overstimulation for it to be pleasant anymore.

“Don’t worry, Archivist,” Jared assures in a tone that is surprisingly sympathetic. “Just making you tight again so you won’t leak it out.”

“Generous,” Jon murmurs, too exhausted to even be sarcastic. He feels some sensation of himself being pinched back into shape, and then Jared places his lower half on the floor with no further ceremony. Some of his hands linger on Jon’s skin, seemingly with a mind of their own and reluctant to let him go.

“I think that solidly repays that favour,” Jared says. His body rearranges itself as he stands up, cracks and pops as his limbs settle after having been thoroughly put to work. Jon looks at him blearily, reaching out to grab his clothes and grimacing at the strain. He feels like he’s just spent an hour at the gym.

“See you sometime, Archivist,” he says, and the terrible deep voice sounds amused.

“…pleasure doing business,” Jon mutters sourly. Jared’s terrible face breaks into a grimace that showcases several people’s teeth. The floor creaks as he makes his way down the hallway, and Jon stares at the grotesque shape of Hopworth’s back as he leaves.

Tremors continue to hit him as he laboriously tries to get dressed, half-crawling on the floor. He feels a steady trickle of ejaculate from his hole, small but substantial enough that his underwear will be ruined by the time he comes home.   
His heart is still racing. At least Jon knows that it does so without being covered in eyes.

He hears the Distortion before he sees it, a static and pressure in the air like the approach of thunder before some previously unseen door swings open.

“That was quite a show, Archivist!” Helen says cheerfully, stepping out into the middle of the hallway and giving him a look. “Expected you to tap out halfway through, but you were quite the champion.”

“Sh-shut… up,” Jon wheezes in response.

“I might be able to offer you something to drink. You certainly need to replenish your fluids after that.”

Jon frowns. “You have water?”

Helen smiles. “I didn’t say that.”

Jon groans and stands up on shaky legs. He clutches at his gut as he does, feeling both empty and full and still having shocks of pleasure roll through him. His shirt is almost soaked wet with sweat, and he _aches_ for a shower.

“Why did you bring him to me?” he asks Helen, who looks perpetually amused as ever.

“He said so himself! You two had unfinished business – I simply offered the shortcut. Now,” she folds her elongated hands in thought, “I didn’t _quite_ foresee this particular turn of events.”

“Don’t suppose you can offer me a shortcut home?”

“Oh no, Archivist, I don’t know about that. But I _can_ offer you something even better.”

Jon looks up as she extends a hand and is shocked to find that Helen is for once telling the truth; in her hand is a half-full pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

**Author's Note:**

> ………thanks for reading what is definitely the weirdest porn I've ever written! Comments are appreciated.


End file.
